


falling (feels like flying 'til the bone crush)

by yoghurtaes



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cleaning, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, What Have I Done, also ramen dates, camp but it's more like a school stay-in, its actually lowkey best friends to lovers, other groups as cameos, so a boy scout au as well :D, they're all boy scouts by the way, with Leader Seonghwa because its a concept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28790478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoghurtaes/pseuds/yoghurtaes
Summary: We’re so fucked, San mouthed, slitting a finger across his throat.No shit,Wooyoung mouthed back, looking like he was about to piss himself.They stood frozen, as the two leaders came into their field of sight. Seonghwa’s mouth dropped open.“What thefuckhappened here?” Seokjin exclaimed. He sniffed the bathroom, bringing a hand over his nose. “And what theabsolute fuck is that smell?”“We can — we can explain, sir,” Wooyoung stammered.“The wholeplaceis wet!” He carried on, his voice so high-pitched with annoyance San felt like shrivelling up and melting into the floor. “Andyou bothtoo? Goddamn, I was under the impression that you were sent to wash the toilet, not each other!”
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	falling (feels like flying 'til the bone crush)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hunykisan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunykisan/gifts).



> \- title is from 'gold rush' by taylor swift!!  
> \- for the sake of this fic, ateez r all the same age (17-18) :D

San had no choice but to stare as his beautiful centrepiece (scribbled on the sand using a twig he’d grabbed from under the mango tree) got washed away with the first quick drops of rain to smatter across the ground, splattering across the tarp they’d laid out for breakfast. 

“San,” Hongjoong, their patrol’s assistant leader, called sharply, plates and cups already stacked high on his left hand. “Get a move on, the fuck? Collect the dishes and get someone to bring the tarp into the hall, we’re not having breakfast here.”

“Someone kicked sand onto the plates!” Wooyoung screeched. He held up a Winnie The Pooh plate, a few grains of sand stuck to it thanks to the moisture from the rain.

“Go wash it! Hurry up, we still have activities to do, you didn’t even finish building your gadget last night!” Hongjoong yelled again, and Wooyoung scurried off towards the row of taps, a few plates that fell victim to the sand-kicking (probably Mingi or Yunho walking with their shoes on again) stacked in his hands. 

San took a quick look around the compound. The other patrols were already packing up, getting ready to move into the hall, as the beginning drops continued to rain down. It looked like only their patrol was lagging behind, with San still standing near the ‘table’ clearly mortified at the rain’s decision to wash his sand art away — god knew where Yunho and Mingi were — Jongho and Yeosang were on cooking duty, which was just as well, seeing that they’d have nothing to eat if they didn’t do their job — Wooyoung was washing the dishes, and Seonghwa and Hongjoong were already inside the hall. 

Thankfully  _ some _ of them were still behaving like Scouts. The others? Not so much.

It was the last day of the small camp their school had arranged for their Boy Scout troop, to commence the end of exams and the summer break ahead. It had been going relatively well - until that morning. San’s patrol (Mercury) were still reeling from their morning exercise, after a rather sleepless night where they’d heard nothing but loud footsteps and laughter over the soft music box tones that Yunho put on (further proving their theories that their school was indeed haunted).

They’d been hungry after the (rather lazily executed) workout and had immediately sent Jongho and Yeosang to the shelter under the water-apple tree, where the cooks from each patrol assembled — and San had spent a majority of the time on mess duty drawing up a centrepiece of flowers and encouraging words on the sand as Wooyoung laid out the tarp and arranged the plates rather huffily. Yunho and Mingi, being on camp duty, didn’t have much to do (and probably took the opportunity to hole away in their classroom underneath the sleeping bags and make out) — though they had also spent some time with them as they laid the ‘table’, which was probably how the sand had ended up in the plates.

And then it began raining. 

Consequently, they had to recollect all the dishes, roll up the tarp, and restart their work inside the confines of the school hall, where San wouldn’t be able to draw up a beautiful centerpiece nor rub his shoes on Wooyoung’s thigh when he poured some of his drink into San’s meal.

Honestly? Wooyoung could spit in San’s baked beans for all he cared, and he wouldn’t mind. Because at the end of the day, Wooyoung was an adorable little bitch, no matter how annoying — and he was also San’s closest friend, the friend who knew San inside and out, possibly even better than he knew himself.

He also happened to be the friend San had been helplessly lovesick for, ever since the one time in ninth grade — when he, as the captain of the volleyball team, had just finished giving his speech to the school and encouraged them to come and support the team in the matches, and ended up tripping on the way down the stairs, landing face-first on the ground in front of the whole assembly — and Wooyoung had burst through his class line and ran up to help San, whispering ‘ _ you forgot to tie your laces you dipshit! _ ’ frantically before tying them for him, then proceeding to ruffle his hair and give him a warm, reassuring hug.

In front of the whole school.

Safe to say, San’s felt his heart beat just a little faster around Wooyoung ever since then, whether it be when Wooyoung smiled at him, teased him, or was affectionate with him (even something as simple as their hands brushing together made San’s blood run cold). It wasn’t surprising how the night prior had driven him completely insane, with Wooyoung falling asleep on San’s lap during the campfire and then cuddling up to San later in the classroom as they were asleep, burrowing his head in San’s chest with his arm draped over his back. San hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep (especially not after that), his mind on overload with the tiny frame of Jung Wooyoung curled up next to him, his hair smelling of the apple-scented dry shampoo he’d sprayed on earlier that evening. 

(Not to mention the freaky footsteps and the laughter, whatever the fuck that was.)

He wouldn’t call it a crush. He wasn’t crushing on his best friend. Nope, nope, nope.

His body just got extra doses of serotonin when Wooyoung was around. Probably way more than he needed. Would that be an explanation as to why he was so fucking giddy every time something happened that had to do with Wooyoung?

Maybe.

But no, not a crush. Lovesick? Might be. But not a crush. Never a crush.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. 

(That’s what San kept repeating to himself as he laid on the sleeping bag the night before, feeling Wooyoung’s chest rise and fall against his own as he tried desperately to lull himself to sleep.)

San sighed, bending down and beginning to roll up the tarp. Wooyoung came sauntering out from behind the mango tree, a pile of wet plates in his arms, and stood next to San as he inched forward with the tarp.

“I need to dry these plates but everyone’s busy,” Wooyoung frowned. He blinked hard as a drop of rain caught his eyelash.

“Dumbass, get inside, you’ll only get the plates even wetter,” San shook his head. “Go ask Seonghwa for a towel or something. And go look for Mingi and Yunho, where the fuck did they go to?”

“Changbin from Saturn saw them. They were running down the seventh-floor corridor.”

“Are they trying to blow up the labs or —?”

“I don’t know, but let them be. If they miss breakfast it’s on them and their mini oreo packs to get them through until lunch.”

San’s school had . . . an odd layout. A layout that allowed them to have two grounds, and even a mango tree that was probably older, if not just as old as the school. There were three unused buildings (their school was practically prehistoric) that were run down and used mostly for storing things, and occasionally for extra classes for when classes weren’t available in the new main building. The building labelled F block housed the old library, AV Room, labs, and also overlooked the school hall, where they’d be having breakfast that morning. It was also accessible from the building labelled S block, which was in turn linked to the building named W block, the closest building to the main building and the one that had previously been home to the staff offices, Leading Teachers’ rooms, more classes, and even their band room. 

The juncture between the W block and the main building was especially faulty when it came to rainy days, having an uncanny habit of filling up to the tiles on the corridor to the point where students often had to remove their shoes and wade through the water if they were crossing buildings. The case was similar in the juncture between the S and W blocks as well, though not as severe. Having old buildings that were unused for the most part was rather nice — creepy, yes, especially during the night when all three were pitch black — but it provided a rather interesting aesthetic, a sort of clash between generations with the new modern main building and the rather short, weary old ones surrounding it. 

Wooyoung headed into the hall, San following soon after with the rolled tarp tucked under his arms. There they set to work again, laying out the plates on the tarp and arranging the cups and cutleries next to them. Yeosang and Jongho came not much later, hands mitted as they brought in the pots of baked beans and the egg soup. Jongho disappeared again and arrived with a bowl of kimchi fried rice and a kettle of black tea, Yeosang running after him and bringing back a loaf of bread.

Breakfast was pretty uneventful. The atmosphere inside the hall was nice and warm, the buzz of chatter not dropping low until the last of the food on the plates were licked clean. Surprisingly, Wooyoung didn’t bother sabotaging San’s meal — this was mostly on account of the fact that he was sitting next to Yeosang, across from San. Mingi and Yunho turned up as they were halfway through the dishes, Seonghwa chastising them for missing the graces before the meal and not helping them around as they moved from the compound to the hall. 

After they’d washed the dishes and left them on the racks to dry, they headed back into the hall for the first activity of the day: practising first aid. The session lasted about an hour and a half, and by the time they’d finished the rain was  _ pouring,  _ ensued by flashes of lightning and occasional rumbles of thunder that made the whole ground tremor. 

“Sheesh, how are we moving on with the outdoor activities if this is what the weather’s gonna be like?” Yunho poked his head out of the hall, coming back inside a minute later with raindrops running down the sides of his face. Clearly it was windy as fuck, too.

“Okay lads, listen up,” Seokjin, one of the teachers in charge of them, called from the front of the hall. 

“Head into your classes and get your raincoats, raffia rolls and cups. Line up in the new compound, in front of the reception, shoes removed. I better not see any of your dumb asses walking around with socks on just because I asked for no shoes,” he added sternly, eyeing the Saturn patrol whose giggling came to a halt.

Oops.

“The time’s 9:15 now,” Seokjin said, looking at the clock behind him. “Be there by 9:30 or we start without you. Careful on the corridors by the way, it’s really rainy. You may go now.”

Havoc followed as the boys thundered for the doors, tumbling through them into the rain. San headed for the closest staircase directly behind the mango tree, Wooyoung running close behind him. There was a mix of what sounded like laughter and screams as they raced down the corridor, the rain lashing against their cheeks from the wind. They were out of breath as they reached the class — kicking the door open, they scrambled inside, a mess of upturned neckerchiefs, sashes, cuffed pants and dirty footprints because  _ they forgot to take off their shoes before entering. _

“Jesus Christ,” Wooyoung laughed, breathless, as he dug around in his bag for his raincoat. There was a trail leading from the door to his and San’s desks — the damage was already done.

“We fucked up. MINGI, LEAVE YOUR SHOES AT THE DOOR,” he shouted, before Mingi and his boyfriend could stomp all over the class with their wet shoes as well. “And go get a mop for us, there’s a sweetheart! I love you!”

“I’m not your maid,” Mingi frowned, leaning against the doorframe. Yunho snorted. 

“I just asked you to do a simple favour for me. Stop being a petty bitch and — you know what. Yunho,” Wooyoung turned to the taller of the two, gazing at him with his sparkly doe eyes. Anything to coax him into doing his bidding. “Go get the mop for me so we can clean this mess up and I don’t get in trouble with Seonghwa when he arrives —”

“You made the mess, not me,” Yunho shrugged. There was a loud yell from behind them and they looked around, an evil grin carving onto Yunho’s lips instantly.

“Good luck Wooyoung,” he sang, kicking off his shoes and sauntering into the class. 

Seonghwa walked in, nose scrunched at the two boys who had previously been standing at the door. Hongjoong followed behind, slightly less irritated but still looking irritated (on Seonghwa’s behalf. Seonghwa really didn’t know how to get angry).

“ _ What  _ were you doing without getting your things —  _ who the FUCK walked into the class with their SHOES ON? _ ” Seonghwa exclaimed, his voice getting louder with each passing word.

San looked at his best friend, then at his shoes, and back at Wooyoung. He looked at Seonghwa, his raincoat halfway buttoned, red colour already creeping onto his cheeks.

Oops (x2).

“Wooyoung, San,” Seonghwa sighed, “I love you, but please. Please. Don’t screw up the  _ one  _ award we have a chance at winning. You dipshits stand no chance at winning Best Patrol anymore, you’re a  _ mess.  _ So please,” he took in a deep breath, “let us win the Cleanest Patrol award. Please.”

“Okay, okay.” Wooyoung buttoned up the last of his buttons and removed his shoes, tossing them under the desk carelessly. He was about to leave the class when Seonghwa glared at him, eyes so sharp they could’ve cut lines across Wooyoung’s back.

He knew what he did wrong.

“Sorry,” he turned back around and arranged his shoes neatly, slipping the socks into the drawer before sprinting off, bare feet slapping against the wet corridor tiles. 

Yeosang and Jongho came in not much later and left without wasting time either (Yeosang did make sure to kick Yunho’s ass as the latter bent over to roll his pants up, though), and by 9:25, San’s the only one left in the room (since he never went anywhere without Wooyoung). He scoured the room high and low for his roll of yellow raffia — he’s positive he brought it into the class before the campfire the night before — or did he? He couldn’t remember at all. 

Panic flourished in San’s mind, drop by drop, much like the rain falling on them that day.

He was about to go look out onto the compound where they’d been building their camp gadgets the night before, when he saw a familiar figure walking down the corridor towards him.

“WOOYOUNG! HURRY THE FUCK UP!” 

Wooyoung marched down the corridor with the mop slung over his shoulder, smile diminishing as he saw the horrified look blooming on San’s face. 

“FIVE MINUTES LEFT ON THE CLOCK, YOU DUMB BITCH!”

He dropped the marching act and sprinted into the class, the urgency finally getting to him. San followed after him, still wondering where his raffia was.

“And I don’t know where my raffia is either, I’m fucked,” San whimpered, stomping his foot. Wooyoung wiped the mop across the floor a generous amount of times, before opening the window and hanging it out on the ledge to dry.

At least he didn’t fling it on the floor. That’s what San’s little brother would have done.

“Let’s just  _ go _ ,” Wooyoung grabbed his hand, just as the PA system crackled. “They’re about to start now.”

“But my fucking raffia, bro —”

“Your raffia can wait, just take your cup and let’s  _ go _ ,” he tugged San towards the door.

They took the same staircase they’d used to come upstairs, heading for the hall to look for San’s raffia instead of heading straight for the compound. San knew they’d be late either way, but he needed to find his raffia. It was a brand new roll, one he’d bought just for the camp — and even though it seemed petty and babyish he couldn’t bear the thought of losing something bought with his mother’s money into the premises of his phoney haunted high school. 

“Not here,” Wooyoung snapped, heading back towards the door. They set off towards the other ground — this time taking care to not run, since the floors were slippery from the rain still pouring down. 

“Are you sure you took it back upstairs last night?”

“I — I don’t know, I might have left it out here, but —” San squinted, his eyes catching sight of a familiar object lying on the desk in front of the door to the sports room in the old Block W.

“Wooyoung, wait,” San stepped out into the rain, his foot sinking into a puddle that must’ve been an inch or two deep. His face contorted in disgust. “I think that’s my raffia roll.”

He stepped over the block of concrete jutting out, jumping onto the corridor and wrapping his fingers around the bright yellow roll of string. He turned around — now realizing that the puddle stretched through a big part of the compound, starting from the juncture he was facing. The water was lapping against the corridor already.

Great. The ‘crossing-buildings-as-it-is-raining- operation — one he’d avoided for a good portion of his time as a student.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “How are you gonna —” he paused as San poised himself — “Are you gonna  _ jump _ ?”

San nodded. “I’m joining the cool gang.”

“Dumb bitch,” Wooyoung murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. “Take my hand, it’s slippery as fuck —”

San jumped.

His right foot hit the tiles first, and the second he felt himself moving forward, he knew he was fucked.

“SAN NO —”

San scrambled for Wooyoung’s hand for support — but only dragged him down with him as he skidded against the wet floor, falling in a heap on the ground with disastrous-sounding thuds. 

“Wooyoung —” San croaked, realizing his best friend was on top of him. His knee was throbbing, and his ears rang, probably from the pain concentrating itself at the back of his head.

Wooyoung groaned in reply.

“Get up —”  _ why am I laughing? _ “ — We need to go.”

“My toe hurts,” Wooyoung whined, reducing into fits of laughter as well.

San managed to pull himself to his feet, grabbing the roll of raffia that had flown away towards the wall upon impact. He helped Wooyoung up as well, the two of them still laughing, cheeks red from exhilaration and embarrassment. 

“You dumbass,” Wooyoung was practically crying (from pain? From laughter? Probably both), “I knew you’d fall, but I didn’t ask to drag me down with you.”

“If I go down, you go down with me —  _ ow! _ ” they stopped walking, as San let out a sudden yelp. His hand fell to his pants immediately, rolling it up to see the light pinkish-red blooming right below his knee. 

“Christ,” he breathed. “I can’t even walk.”

“Serves you right.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

They headed for the ground where the whole pack was already assembled, a mass of colourful (almost  _ blindingly  _ colourful) raincoats, raffia rolls and plastic cups. Everyone was barefoot — which meant sooner or later the imprints from the matted ground (that was all too similar to that of a waffle maker) would end up on the undersides of their feet.

“Where the fuck were you two?” Yeosang called, as he saw them come over, San’s arm slung around Wooyoung’s shoulder for support. 

“There was an accident,” they said in unison. San laughed.

“Yeah, but he took the big blow,” Wooyoung jerked his thumb in San’s direction. “Look at his knee.”

“Did we sit through an entire session of first aid not even fifteen minutes ago just for us to use it on your knee?” Yeosang raised an eyebrow, gaze flitting over the bruise near San’s knee. 

“Nothing much we can do but ice it,” San sighed. “I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt that much right now.”

“Watch you cry later into the afternoon because it hurts like a bitch.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay boys,” Seokjin spoke into the mic. “Initially we weren’t supposed to be having outdoor activities as it rained, but it’s the last camp you’ll ever attend and I don’t think you can do these in college unless you throw a party or something SO —” he paused “ — we’ll be playing three games, and then afterwards I’ll give you more instructions on how to proceed. The first game is a three-legged race, and then afterwards we’ll fill the buckets up with those little cups of yours, and _ then _ we’ll have a bit more fun . . . I’ll tell you when the time comes. For now, let’s cut up some raffia and tie you up in twos, then we’ll begin.”

Seokjin and two other teachers went around, cutting up raffia for them and then helping them tie it at their ankles. San was paired up with Mingi, the tall beast — they began practicing a pattern as the rest of their patrol teamed up. When they were finished, Seonghwa and Hongjoong, tied together at the ankle with bright pink raffia, stood on the other end of the compound — behind them were Wooyoung and Jongho. Behind San and Mingi stood Yeosang and Yunho, the good full length of the court separating the two sides.

“Is everyone ready?” Seokjin called, looking over the court to assure that everyone was standing in line. All five groups were standing in order, ears perked for the whistle. 

“I asked if everyone is  _ ready, _ ” he called again, rolling his eyes. The five patrols responded with a unified yell. 

“Okay. On your marks, get set — GO!”

San and Mingi fucked up almost immediately. From their right, Changbin and Hyunjin from Saturn took the lead, while San desperately tried to get Mingi back into a steady rhythm (“PUT YOUR LEFT FOOT  _ AFTER,  _ YOU DUMBASS!”). After what seemed like an hour of endless hobbling, they finally reached Seonghwa and Hongjoong, who took off immediately — nothing was off about their flow, but that was to be expected from the patrol’s resident soulmates.

“Thank you, Mingi,” San grumbled, as they fell to the ground at the back of the line. 

“You, kind sir, are fully aware I have two left feet,” Mingi retorted. 

The game carried on, with much stumbling and falling, not to mention the bouts of laughter at the waffle prints on the soles of their feet. Saturn patrol finished first (signified by the overjoyous scream of ‘SATURN!’ once their whole team was seated), and they lapsed back into a second round, with San’s patrol claiming the win this time. 

The game got called off when one pair from Mars patrol fell and crashed into Yeosang and Yunho, sending the four of them toppling to the ground in a mess of limbs and string-bound ankles. Trembling from laughter (but also rubbing their arms and knees for a temporary sense of comfort), they got around to cutting the raffia, the other patrols following suit.

“Ow, fuck, now  _ my  _ knee kinda hurts,” Yeosang murmured, walking over to where they were standing, cut-up strings of raffia littering the ground around them.

San opened his mouth to respond (he had something snarky in his mind, but it probably sounded meaner in his head than it actually was) only to get cut off by another static screech. They looked over to see Seokjin desperately holding the microphone away from his face.

“Anyway,” he coughed dramatically, once the noise had died down, “the next game is called — actually, never mind, I don’t know what it’s called. Let me tell you how it works. As I speak, there are buckets of water being placed on two ends of the compound.” San looked around, seeing some of the teachers placing (rather heavy-looking) buckets of water along the boundary lines. “ _ You,  _ as teams, are going to line up so the buckets are on each end of the line. The one at the front of the line will fill their cup and tip it over their head into the cup of the person standing behind . . . and so it goes.” He paused as the students registered the new game. 

“Team who gets the most water in their buckets within five minutes wins.”

Now having fully comprehended the game, San watched as Hongjoong’s competitive gear kicked into full swing. 

“Yunho and Mingi can stay at the back, since you're both tall —” Hongjoong’s smile faltered when he saw Mingi shoot Yunho the most lovesick grin ever — “No, please don’t use that as an excuse to make out —” His face fell completely flat as Yunho leaned over and pecked Mingi’s lips — “fuck.” 

“So. Back to what he was saying,” Seonghwa broke in, before Hongjoong could say something ( _ very  _ homophobic — for legal reasons, he’s gay) about the disgusting public display of affection in front of them. “Yunho and Mingi to the back since you’re tall. Jongho to the front since you’re less likely to panic,” he carried on, side-glancing at Hongjoong for approval, “everyone else can just fall into place in between, we’re equally as brainless.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow.

“I mean.” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “Whatever we have of our brains, Hongjoong has it.”

“Sometimes he doesn’t act like it though,” Jongho said under his breath. Wooyoung snorted.

They got in line, cups in hand and the hoods of their raincoats over their heads just in case people got too clumsy with the water-tipping. Jongho was at the front and the two tallest were at the back, as instructed.

“I’ll start the timer in three,” Seokjin yelled, “two, one!”

There was a frantic rush as the boys at the front dunked their cups in the bucket before them, proceeding to tip it over the heads into the cup of the student behind. Someone from the other side of the court let out a squeal — “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CATCH THE WATER!” — and they giggled, recognizing Hyunsuk’s voice.

“San,” Wooyoung hissed from in front of him, and San held his cup out, still laughing at Hyunsuk’s demise. Half the water spilt as San tried desperately to aim his cup to Wooyoung’s (so much for laughing) but he held a respectable amount in his own cup when Wooyoung’s ran out. He called Yeosang behind him and transferred the water (or what he could) into his cup. 

“Please don’t make me call you every time,” Wooyoung groaned. San bit his bottom lip, holding his cup out again — except Wooyoung tipped it all over onto a side, the water sloshing against the rain puddles already present on the ground.

“Wooyoung!” San exclaimed. “That was almost a full cup of water!”

“I’m sorry!” He said, frantic now. From near the back, Hongjoong tsked impatiently.

“Another pair I shouldn’t have kept together,” he murmured.

“I heard that,” San snapped, raising a now half-full cup of water above his head. 

More and more water came up from the front (Seonghwa was right, Jongho seemed to be the only one not panicking in the line) and before they knew it, five minutes had passed. The buckets at the back were emptied into measuring cups, students throwing back their hoods so they could see clearer.

“It looks like Venus won with this one,” Hongjoong groused, as Seokjin held up the cup in question and tossed the contents at them. The boys from Venus let out an ear-splitting yell, jumping around and whooping in celebration. 

“If Wooyoung hadn’t fed half the water to the ground, maybe we would’ve won, too,” Yeosang said over the singsong yells of ‘VENUS WON! VENUS WON!’, examining his nails nonchalantly as Wooyoung raised a fist behind him. 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, Yeosang,” he growled. 

The next activity wasn’t competition-based and consisted of a selected group of people throwing water balloons at the rest, as they ran around the compound like mice about to be executed. There was a lot of screaming involved, even more so when Jisung’s pants got caught on the thorns of a plant he was running around — and ripped right down the leg (“See, I achieved a slit dress look almost effortlessly!”). After that little fiasco the garden was strictly off-limits, which cut down the allocated space for running by almost a half — making it loads more easier for students to fall victim to the high-pressure water balloons. 

The game eventually came to an end when all the water balloons were used up. The boys lined up in their respective patrols again and complete silence befell the compound, apart from their heavy breathing and the slow, steady drizzle of rain. 

“That was eventful,” Seokjin looked over the crowd, “you can return to your classes now. Showers will be open from now until 3:30 in the afternoon. Duties will resume at 11:45, it’s 11:15 now so I’m giving you half an hour to catch your breath or do whatever you like.” 

He took in a sharp breath, and San knew he was about to be shooting down individual students now. 

His assumptions were confirmed when Seokjin began — “Jisung, please stitch your pants up, I trust that you brought a sewing kit with you, it was on the kit list. Mashiho, you might wanna get that cut checked out at the health room, that looks nasty. Seonghwa —” San felt his leader go rigid behind him — “There’s a pair of underwear lying near the ground floor  _ staff bathroom _ labelled  _ Jung Wooyoung, Mercury _ . You might want to clear that up since he’s your member, one who shouldn’t be near the staff bathrooms at that.”

A few students sniggered loudly. 

San looked around to see Seonghwa whack Wooyoung across the head, his face bright red as Wooyoung whimpered, “but the bathrooms were  _ full,  _ okay?”. Seokjin dismissed the group after a reminder to clean the bathrooms if they had the time, and that lunch was at 1:15. 

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa hissed, once the rest of the patrols had moved upstairs. Wooyoung froze in place, wincing as Seonghwa moved closer to him.

“You,” he murmured under his breath, his voice dripping with poison, “and San, both. Clean up this  _ entire  _ compound.”

“HEY!” Wooyoung exclaimed, frowning. “That’s so fucking unfair, I just dropped a pair of  _ underwear  _ by accident —?”

“And embarrassed me in front of the  _ entire  _ pack, young sir,” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. Hongjoong snickered.

“You and your boyfriend —” 

“We’re not boyfriends —” Wooyoung sputtered.

“Also just  _ happen  _ to be on camp duty, which means you can already get started. Before you argue,” he continued, seeing Wooyoung open his mouth in protest, “the duty roster changed during activities. You and San are both on camp duty.” He finished smugly, ignoring the flushed Wooyoung standing in front of him.

_ Did he just call us boyfriends?  _ San wondered, bewildered, blood rushing to his cheeks. 

_ Wooyoung was so quick to deny it though …? I mean. We’re not boyfriends, true, but does it bother him that much? Oh, god.  _ He fanned himself, looking down at his feet.

“Come on, boys,” Seonghwa called, clapping his hands and snapping San out of his thoughts. “Back to the classroom. Oh and, don’t forget to fill the water dispensers when you finish, you two. You can be in charge of washing the bathrooms as well, I was going to do it myself but I’ve changed my mind.” He smiled sweetly. “That’ll be all.”

The rest of the group walked off, leaving Wooyoung and San in the middle of the compound, pants rolled up and cups in their hand. San subtly flipped Seonghwa off before he turned to Wooyoung, his heart almost stopping at how attractive he looked with his wet hair and tinted cheeks.

“You get started near the lobby, I’ll clean up near the garden,” Wooyoung said, sighing. San nodded hastily, jogging over near the reception to clean up the bits of colourful string and popped balloons. 

It was a painful ten minutes, of which almost half was spent on admiring Wooyoung as he waddled around the compound squatted on his legs, picking up bits of trash and crunching them up in his tiny fist. Eventually they managed to clean the compound (a few Scouts on camp duty from other patrols came around to help when they were nearly done; A for effort, San thought) and they trudged back to the back compound, which was sporting several lake-sized puddles in different vicinities. 

“Oh, I filled the water dispensers,” a voice called from upstairs as they headed towards said items. They looked up to see Hyunjin, smiling and waving at them. He was dressed in a bathrobe and his hair was wet, which probably meant he’d already run for the showers when he could.

“But ours —” San started.

“Yeah, I just filled everyone’s while I was at it,” Hyunjin shrugged. “Yours was fully empty, I barely even had to touch my patrol’s dispenser. The fuckers do not know how to stay hydrated if Chan’s not after their asses.” He grinned. 

San chuckled. “Thanks, Hyunjin-ah.”

“No problem.” He stepped away from the railing, only to lean back.

“Showers are free by the way, the toilets are disgusting and you might want to clean it out,” he called, before disappearing into his classroom. 

“A pity no one saw us picking up all that trash, isn’t it,” Wooyoung pouted, as they went up the stairs. “It could’ve gotten us a good amount of points, and then Seonghwa would forget about my underwear.”

“Yeah, what was  _ that  _ about, by the way?” San asked, laughing. Wooyoung turned away, his face already flushing.

“All three stalls were occupied and there was a person at each of the two sinks,” Wooyoung complained. “I couldn’t do anything and we can’t use other patrol’s bathrooms, and I know the ground floor is the only unoccupied floor, and I  _ also  _ know that no one’s going to use the staff bathroom’s so the cleanliness was guaranteed.”

“Had a nice time?”

“The light was flickering, but it was great.” A smile tugged at Wooyoung’s lips. “Apart from the fact that I dropped my underwear without realizing.”

“It’s okay,” San patted his back. “I once dropped the top half of my favourite pyjamas onto the stairs somewhere in the Gangwon camping complex and I never found it after.”

Wooyoung cocked an eyebrow. “And how old were you?”

San grinned sheepishly. “Ten?”

“See, you were a  _ child.  _ I’m an  _ adult.  _ Well, almost. I don’t know.” Wooyoung huffed. 

They walked past the other classrooms into theirs. It looked like Mingi was the only one who’d showered (he was fast asleep in the class’s reading corner). Yunho and Hongjoong were nowhere to be found (probably on cooking duty) and Yeosang was lying on a yoga mat near his space, as Seonghwa buzzed around mopping under the desks and setting upturned knickknacks upright. Jongho sat in a chair backwards, dozed off, as Yeosang ripped and chucked bits of his yoga mat at Jongho’s head.

“Oh, great, you’re here.” Seonghwa put the mop against the wall, turning to face them. “I’ll go shower then, and I’ll take Jongho. Yeosang can go with the both of you, so you have extra help cleaning up the bathrooms.” He beamed, as Wooyoung let out a groan. 

Seonghwa then proceeded to wake Jongho up and drag the poor boy to the bathrooms, only to have him come back, disgruntled, to pick up his towel and toiletries. They return around ten minutes later, Seonghwa in a new uniform and Jongho merely with a towel around his waist, the scent of their soaps mingling with the slight hint of baby cologne in the room (thanks to Mingi). 

“Bathroom’s all yours now,” Seonghwa jerked a thumb towards the door. “I left the cleaning supplies under the sink. Brooms will be in the staff toilet. Yeosang,  _ please  _ do not forget to leave your towel out to dry, last night I saw it on your chair curled into a ball and it smelled like shit.”

Yeosang snickered and quickly turned it into a cough when he saw Seonghwa shoot daggers at him.

“You may go.”

“Thanks,” San said hurriedly, before grabbing his bathrobe and toiletry bag off the desk and dashing out of the classroom.

Wooyoung and Yeosang followed not long after, Yeosang’s towel around his neck and Wooyoung swinging it around like a lasso. They caught a whiff of the bathroom before they even saw it and San gagged, pinching his nose in an attempt to ward off the disgusting smell.

“Oh god, the flush tank’s probably broken again,” Yeosang squeaked, his voice nasally from the two fingers holding his nose shut. 

They threw their towels and toiletries onto a desk near the doorway. Cautiously, they walked into the bathroom — the place surely was a mess, the floors caked in wet dirt and mud, and something that looked like watered-down hand washing soap running down the left mirror. The smell almost made San hurl — desperately, he tugged his shirt up to his nose — compared to the smell of piss and shit and Lifebuoy soap all mixed together, his sweat served as a substitute that was ten times better.

Wooyoung inched forward towards one of the sinks. Yeosang pushed open one of the stall doors and hesitantly pressed the flush button, only to get nothing but complete silence in return.

“Yeah, tank’s broken,” he called. San closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. 

“I fucking  _ knew _ it,” Wooyoung shrieked suddenly, jumping back from one of the sinks. “Someone’s filled this soap dispenser with piss, the  _ audacity _ ?”

“ _ What _ ?” The question came out so high-pitched that San doesn’t even recognize his own voice. He didn’t think his patrol was  _ that  _ animalistic. “But who the fuck would do  _ that? _ ”

“Well, someone’s done it, San,” Wooyoung pushed the button and yellow liquid trickled out and onto the countertop. 

There was a moment of silence as the trio assessed the weight of the cleaning they’d have to perform. 

“Oh, good god.” San wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, sighing. “Okay, we’ll wash the stalls later, for now let’s tackle this monstrosity.” He gestured at the dirt-covered floor they were standing on, and then at the disastrous sink tops. 

“Shoes outside. Yeosang, be a dear and go get the broom — we need to scrub this place down real good.”

When Yeosang returned with the broom they immediately got to work. They each headed into a stall, spraying down the walls and floors with the bidets and clearing most of the dirt out before sprinkling a bit of powdered detergent on the floor. San gave the floor a good scrub, ramming the broom against the walls (maybe he was a  _ bit  _ harsh but it ensured a good clean bathroom, am I right) with brute force as he cleaned corners and unders. Then they rinsed the floor, slipping and sliding (Wooyoung took advantage of it to try skating, only to run into the piss sink) until it felt like the normal cold toilet tiles again.

“Whew, that was an experience,” San breathed, wiping his sweat on his shirt. “We’ll give the floor a lighter scrub once we finish with the sinks and the stalls.”

“Oh, god, not the sinks.” Wooyoung groaned. 

“Rock paper scissors and loser gets the piss dispenser,” Yeosang piped in. Wooyoung visibly grimaced.

“If you don’t do it you lose, rock, paper, scissors!” 

San put out scissors. Yeosang and Wooyoung had both put out paper.

“LET’S GO!” San whooped in joy, doing a little dance as Wooyoung and Yeosang glared daggers at each other. 

“If you don’t do it you lose,” Yeosang chanted, glancing at Wooyoung warily, “rock, paper, scissors!”

San looked at their choices. Wooyoung had chosen scissors this time. Yeosang had chosen rock.

“ _ YES! _ ” Yeosang screamed, jumping into San’s arms and hopping around in ecstasy. Wooyoung stared at the piss dispenser and urine-covered sink tops, before flipping the two of them off with a sweet smile.

“It’s like fate has a grudge against me today,” Wooyoung grumbled, rolling up his sleeves to get started on the disaster sink. 

As Wooyoung got around to emptying the dispenser into a toilet bowl, San busied himself with scrubbing the walls, and Yeosang took the second sink. San was trying  _ desperately  _ to rub off some of the couple names scribbled on the walls (with permanent markers too, at that — some of the couples had already broken up, so much for a permanent relationship) to no avail — he decided to give it a shot with bleach.

It was under the sink Wooyoung was cleaning. He whistled nonchalantly and ducked under quickly, fingers wrapping around the bottle just as his head thudded against something —  _ hard.  _

“ _ Ouch _ ,” He yelped, only to hear a voice whimper after him. He turned around to see Wooyoung next to him, his face unnaturally close, eyes swimming with depth and colour as his gaze locked with San’s.

“That hurt,” Wooyoung pouted, frowning.

San swallowed thickly. Wooyoung was  _ so close to him _ . He could smell Wooyoung’s cologne slightly, now more overpowered by the smell of disinfectant and stain remover, and if he moved closer he’s sure he could hear Wooyoung’s heart thrumming along to a rhythm that doesn’t sound too different to an ocean lullaby. He raked his eyes over Wooyoung, taking him in whole, as though he couldn’t get enough of the boy in front of him — his disarrayed hair, the mole under his left eye and on his lip, the gloss from his lip balm and saliva, the way his nose was all scrunched up from pain as he rubbed his head —

“ _ San, Wooyoung, what are you doing? _ ”

_ Fuck. _

He cleared his throat, coming back to the real world —  _ what the fuck? _

_ When did I move this close? _

San’s lips were a mere centimetre away from Wooyoung’s. His heart almost stopped beating as he felt Wooyoung’s breath, warm and moist, against his lips — in a split second of crazed gay panic he shoved Wooyoung away, breathing heavy, eyes blown wide.

“Fuck,” he gasped, crawling out from under the sink, the bottle of bleach rolling after him. “Fuck.”

He glanced at Wooyoung, but he’d already returned to work. San fell onto his butt, his entire face red, any coherent thoughts and sentences in his mind flying out of the window. 

_ Holy shit, I almost kissed him,  _ he thought to himself, almost frantic. He hit himself on his cheeks several times before getting up, determined to forget that had ever happened. 

“Give me the bleach when you’re done, San,” Wooyoung called, and San nodded hastily, no words coming out of his mouth even though Wooyoung can’t see him. It’s like his bodily functions are being shut down one by one. Next up: his heart.

He managed to get most of the ink off the walls, passing the bottle of bleach to Wooyoung. Within five minutes, he’d finished his sink and Yeosang had finished his, which only left the stalls.

“Okay,” San said, pleased with how the bathroom looked if they ignored the stalls. “Now we get the buckets, and try to flush out the toilet manually.” 

“I’ll go get them,” Yeosang volunteered, raising a hand, and San waved him off. 

“One of the toilets literally has crap in it, San,” Wooyoung wrinkled his nose, closing the stall door after barely poking his head in.

“Yeah good, you can deal with that.” San pushed the door open and shoved Wooyoung inside, grabbing a bucket from Yeosang who had just entered the bathroom with them. 

“HEY!” Wooyoung shrieked, scrambling to get his shirt over his nose. “That’s no fair, I got the piss dispenser  _ and  _ the crap toilet? Cut me some slack, come on!” 

“No,” Yeosang said cheerily, walking into the stall with him. Wooyoung ignored him, continuing to fill one of the buckets with water from the bidet. 

There’s a rather comical silence, only broken by the trill of high-pressure water against plastic as Wooyoung finished filling the bucket. He took it by its handle, holding it by its bottom before tipping the whole thing over into the toilet.

The three of them watched as the water gurgled, rising higher and higher, until it was a few centimetres away from levelling with the toilet seat. 

“Go down,” Wooyoung pleaded.

The water stayed still. 

He dropped the bucket with a loud  _ thunk _ , groaning. “Great, now the toilet’s  _ clogged? _ ”

“Someone took a large shit,” Yeosang pointed out. San snorted.

“Don’t make me unclog this shit —” Wooyoung began, only to get cut off by another cheery ‘No!’ from Yeosang.

He rolled his sleeves up. If he was fazed by Wooyoung’s sharp glare, he didn’t show it. “I’ll do it with you, where’s the plunger?” 

“There’s no plunger, Yeosang,” Wooyoung snapped, his voice muffled through his shirt.

“That’s great!” Yeosang exclaimed. “Perfect excuse for me to shove your head down the toilet bowl!”

“NO, WAIT —” Followed by a loud scream as Yeosang pushed Wooyoung onto his knees, shoving his face against the toilet bowl. San watched, highly entertained, as Wooyoung’s face almost turned purple from the pressure he was exerting backwards on Yeosang’s hand, to keep his face from coming in contact with literal shit water.

“Someone’s coming,” San said suddenly, hearing the distant patter of footsteps down the corridor. Yeosang only continued to push harder, making Wooyoung whimper, his eyes and lips clamped tightly shut.

The footsteps grew closer and a familiar figure walked into the bathroom, humming a lively tune. It was Jongho, now dressed in a new uniform. 

Great. Now San felt  _ icky.  _

“Hey guys, I forgot my shampoo —” Jongho paused, catching sight of the ordeal happening in the third stall — “ _ What the fuck, are you guys feeding Wooyoung CRAP??? _ ”

Yeosang blinked innocently, looking at Jongho from where he’s holding Wooyoung’s head inches away from the toilet bowl. “What, this? Nah, he’s just admiring himself.” 

“I’m gonna . . .” Jongho leant into the stall next to theirs, picking up a fallen Head & Shoulders bottle and inching out of the bathroom. “I’m gonna go. Bye!” He dashed off.

“Can we please. Please unclog this now?” Wooyoung said, through gritted teeth. 

“Sure, you can do the honours of scooping this out and flushing it in the staff toilet,” Yeosang chipped. 

Wooyoung gave a loud gasp as Yeosang finally ceased his grip on his head, both of them falling back against the wall. They got up immediately, realizing the place was still unwashed, and Wooyoung grabbed the bucket, tossing it at San rather harshly.

“You’ve been doing nothing but standing there watching,” he said sharply. San caught the bucket in his hands, knowing this was a cold invitation to do what Yeosang had just said.

“Fine,” San shrugged. Wooyoung and Yeosang shuffled past him as he squeezed into the stall, his breath hitching in his throat. He forced his breakfast to stay down, covering his nose with his shirt again before dunking the bucket into the toilet and taking it out. The water level had dropped by half. And  _ all  _ the shit was at the bottom.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, now looking more sceptical with most of the anger having dissipated. 

“Be careful, San,” Yeosang warned.

He stepped out of the stall, cautious to not slip on the wet floor. 

“Yeosang,” San looked around, “can you fill up one more bucket?”

“On it!”

“Yeah —”  _ Oh no. _

San had barely stepped forward after saying that when his foot skidded, sending him sliding forward. A scream escaped his mouth, the bucket loosening from his grip and getting thrown backwards. From behind him, he heard both Yeosang and Wooyoung yell, ‘ _ NO! _ ’, and his ass hit the floor just as the contents in the bucket splashed onto an agape Wooyoung — now standing there, absolutely horrified, with slopping wet clothes and pants and crap water running down his face.

“FUCK!” San swore, getting to his feet frantically. Yeosang stared, mouth wide open like a trap, a full bucket of water in his hands. 

“Wooyoung, I am  _ so sorry —  _ oh, god, we have to wash the place  _ again _ —”

Wordlessly, Wooyoung lunged for the bucket in Yeosang’s hand — and in a split second before San could even process his movements, he’d upended the water onto San’s head, soaking him from head to toe.

His mouth fell open in shock. Yeosang looked between the two of them, aghast, now completely empty-handed. 

And then the fucker  _ ran.  _

“FUCK YOU!” The two of them screamed in unison, only realizing they’d cursed him out together afterwards. San giggled loudly, and Wooyoung’s eyes crinkled as he laughed as well.

“Yeah, and fuck you too,” he leant into the stall and picked up the bidet, shooting San with a jet of water before he could run. Gasping and blinded by the water ramming against his face at full pressure, he stepped backwards, scrambling for the tap and splashing water at Wooyoung’s face. Clearly his aim had been on point because Wooyoung faltered, blinking the water out of his eyes — and earning San enough time to reach into another stall and get a hold of the bidet, spraying Wooyoung with water at full pressure before he could jump back.

“Stop it,  _ stop it _ !” He shrieked, dropping the bidet to shield his eyes. San only pressed the bidet harder, directing it all over Wooyoung (and hopefully cleaning some of the crap water off), drawing louder shrieks of laughter from him. 

“No chance,” San grinned.

“ _ Fucking — Stop — _ ” Wooyoung spluttered in between gasps of laughter, bending down to pick up the bidet. He aimed at San and sprayed again, making San gasp in shock.

“YOU GUYS!” 

They stopped shooting water at each other and dropped the bidets, to see Yeosang standing at the entrance to the bathroom, his face contorted in total panic. 

“Seonghwa — Seonghwa and Seokjin-hyung — are coming —  _ right now —”  _ He gasped, out of breath.

Wooyoung and San exchanged a look. Before they could put the bidets back to their rightful places, they heard approaching footsteps, two voices — 

“Yeah, I bet they’re done washing the bathroom now, they’re great at cleaning, I taught them well,” came Seonghwa’s boast. The three of them looked at each other, fear evident in their eyes.

_ We’re so fucked,  _ San mouthed, slitting a finger across his throat.

_ No shit,  _ Wooyoung mouthed back, looking like he was about to piss himself.

They stood frozen, as the two leaders came into their field of sight. Seonghwa’s mouth dropped open.

“What the  _ fuck  _ happened here?” Seokjin exclaimed. He sniffed the bathroom, bringing a hand over his nose. “And what the  _ absolute fuck is that smell _ ?”

“We can — we can explain, sir,” Wooyoung stammered. 

“The whole  _ place  _ is wet!” He carried on, his voice so high-pitched with annoyance San felt like shrivelling up and melting into the floor. “And  _ you both _ too? Goddamn, I was under the impression that you were sent to wash the toilet, not each other!”

San gulped. Seonghwa closed his mouth, pursing his lips into a straight, thin line. He did  _ not  _ look like he found this amusing. 

“If you wanna clean each other that bad,” Seokjin snapped, “do it outside of work hours. I do not have enough fucking time for this shit. Seonghwa,” he turned to face their leader, and San’s heart sank as he saw the look on Seonghwa’s face. “This is the second time I’m having to tell you about your members. If you can’t control them and their behaviour, I’ll remove you from your position as leader.”

Wooyoung gasped.

Seonghwa looked at Seokjin, tears brimming his eyes. “N-no, don’t do that. I’ll look after them better, I promise.” 

Shooting all four of them a nasty look, Seokjin walked out, clipboard in hand. Seonghwa glared at them through his tears, before turning on his heel and heading out after him. 

“Damn,” San whispered, once he was sure they were out of the bathroom vicinity. “We gotta act serious.” 

They got back to work silently, starting with the floor they’d scrubbed earlier. Wooyoung disappeared halfway through cleaning to hunt for a plunger, and came back nearly seven minutes later with one that was huge — enabling them to  _ finally  _ flush the toilets out manually and get to washing the stalls as well.

It was almost 1:20 when they finally finished showering and got out of the toilet (after spraying some of Wooyoung’s vanilla cologne into each stall). They headed back towards class, silent and utterly exhausted, San lugging the bag of cleaning supplies behind him in addition to his own toiletries.

“I can’t wait for lunch,” Wooyoung murmured, as they drew up to class. “I hope they cooked something good.”

“Yunho’s on cooking duty and he tried baking eggs in the oven,” Yeosang reminded them. “If you want a good lunch, I don’t think you’ll get that today.”

“Whatever. I’ll just nick some food from Saturn, I think Felix was on cooking duty for the afternoon.”

The class was completely empty and smelt like fresh laundry (Seonghwa’s air freshener, no doubt). The lights were off but they could make out how organized and clean the classroom looked, with mopped floors and not a single bag out of place.

“He did a good job,” Yeosang noted under his breath. San agreed. 

They quickly put on their uniforms, leaving their sashes and neckerchiefs for later. Within five minutes they were down at the compound with their plates and cups, where they could see their patrol’s board behind one of the stoves. No one was there, which meant Hongjoong and Yunho had also eaten, and they had to serve themselves today. 

Lunch was kimchi fried rice, and fresh orange juice for a drink. San tried it before he put it on his plate — it was surprisingly good, and he managed to stop Wooyoung before he went hunting for Felix — and poured himself some juice. There were no tarps laid out on the ground and the hall was strictly off limits, since it was being prepared for the rehearsal of the closing ceremony. 

“I’ll go sit with Jupiter,” Yeosang said, pointing to a group of boys sitting on the ring around the mango tree. They nodded.

“So . . .” San asked, awkwardly glancing at Wooyoung. “Where should we sit?”

“How about here?” He pulled San towards the spot he’d found his raffia earlier, sitting down on the concrete steps.

“Perfect,” San said, a giddy smile on his face. He sat down next to Wooyoung, keeping his drink down on the ground.

“This is surprisingly good,” Wooyoung said, through a mouthful of rice, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they used Hongjoong’s mother’s recipe.”

“Yeah, nothing tastes burnt, that’s good enough,” San added helpfully, and Wooyoung laughed. 

“You added gochujang sauce?” Wooyoung looked over at San’s plate. San nodded. 

“You wanna try it?”

“Yes please,” Wooyoung gave him his best puppy face and San felt his heart clench with endearment.  _ Oh, he’s so irresistibly cute.  _

“Say aaah,” San said, raising his spoon to Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung did so, and San fed him a big spoon of kimchi fried rice and gochujang sauce, letting Wooyoung process the taste. 

“This is good,” Wooyoung nodded after a few seconds of chewing, cheeks stuffed. “Really good.” A thumbs up. 

They continued to eat in silence until their plates were almost empty. The silence was comfortable, and San wished it would last for longer — it gave him time to (not very) discreetly look at Wooyoung, his perfections and imperfections, his stunning side profile and jawline, his oh-so-perfect lips. 

He paused. There were so many times when he fantasized about kissing Wooyoung, taking him out on dates, buying him gifts regardless of special dates, waking up next to him after nights of cuddling and movies and stolen kisses. Sure, they were touchy and affectionate, but them being that was coined ‘best friends’. San was scared of going past that barrier, because he had  _ so  _ much to lose.

So eventually he got used to repressing his feelings. Playing off everything as best friends. It was never a huge deal. 

They’d probably never go past being just best friends.

He suddenly remembered the little incident in the bathroom again and he shook his head, cheeks reddening at record speed.

God, he wanted to kiss Wooyoung.

So bad.

_ Why hadn’t Wooyoung moved back in the bathroom earlier, then? _

_ Was that a moment? I think that was a moment. _

“Shit, I just remembered.” Wooyoung put his plate on his lap, smacking his forehead. “I didn’t bring my black shoes to camp and my phone’s in my bag, do you think I’d get away with it if I tell Chan from Saturn to make a call for me?”

“Yeah, sure,” San shrugged. He spooned the last of his rice into his mouth, then proceeded to down his orange juice in one go. 

He stood up just as Wooyoung did. “Damn, my ass hurts,” he groaned. “Wait, Chan’s right there, go go go!” 

“Wait, but I think he’s going to announce something,” Wooyoung pointed at the mic in Chan’s hand. Sure enough, they heard a crackle over the speakers, and Chan’s beautifully accented voice rang out, loud and clear:

“Hello, scouts! The time is currently five minutes to two o’clock. Rehearsals will begin at 2:30 and you will show up in your official uniforms. Pack your bags, clean up the classes and corridors and prepare for final inspections before awarding. The ceremony will begin at 4 pm. Your parents will show up, if you have rightfully given them the invitation card. That’ll be all for now. You may return to your classes. Thank you!” 

“Go,” San shooed Wooyoung towards Chan just as he turned the mic off. He watched as Wooyoung spoke to Saturn’s leader — Chan laughed, then pulled out his phone — Wooyoung frantically dialed a number and paced around, biting his lip — almost a minute passed, and Wooyoung started blabbering into the phone — a moment of silence and he let out a hoot of celebration, hanging up and handing the phone to an amused-looking Chan. 

“Mom’s bringing the shoes,” said Wooyoung excitedly, running over to San. “Come on, let’s go to class and pack up, come on, come  _ on! _ ” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, calm down,” San laughed, letting Wooyoung drag him towards the stairs.

Everyone else was already back at the class, each at their individual spot with their suitcases sprawled open on the floor (all except Mingi, who’d somehow already finished packing all of his things into his humongous camping backpack). Seonghwa seemed to be struggling the most, his equipment spilling from different parts of his two bags and his suitcase barely closing.

“Hwa,” San crouched down next to him, as Seonghwa aggressively shoved a bottle of hand sanitizer into a side pocket of the smaller backpack. 

“We came for a stay-in camp at school which lasted three days . . . what even is all this?”

“Stuff,” Seonghwa said through gritted teeth. He tried forcefully closing one of the zippers on his backpack, and San watched, bewildered, as the zipper popped open.

“Fuck, now it  _ broke _ ,” he groaned, falling back against his suitcase. 

“This is what happens when you don’t have your mother packing for you, Mr Leader,” called Hongjoong from the back of the classroom. Seonghwa raised his middle finger in the air. Hongjoong stuck his tongue out at him, turning around before he could see what other beautiful gestures Seonghwa had to offer. 

“Damn,” Mingi shrugged, “if only. Oh, if  _ only,  _ there was someone in the class who knew how to pack properly . . .”

“I DON’T NEED HELP, FUCK OFF!” Seonghwa yelled. Mingi raised an eyebrow.

The rest of the patrol looked back and forth between the two boys. There Mingi was, bags packed and dressed in his official uniform, complete with badges and sashes and scarf — and then there was Seonghwa, sprawled on top of his suitcase still dressed in his activity uniform, miscellaneous objects littering the ground around him. 

“Is there anyone in the class who knows how to pack and can help Seonghwa out?” Mingi called dramatically. “I’m a bit thirsty, so I’ll head down to the compound.” He strolled towards the door leisurely. 

No one took their eyes off him.

“And maybe never return,” and with that, he dashed. 

Seonghwa sat up, sighing. San stared at him, then up at Wooyoung, who blinked down at him. 

“What are you looking at?” Seonghwa barked. “Go pack your bags up!”

“Yes, sir,” San scrambled to his feet immediately, heading to his spot. 

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung grabbed something off his desk and shoved it into his backpack, colour creeping into his cheeks. 

“What?”

“That was the pair of underwear I dropped near the bathroom.” Wooyoung said under his breath, so quickly that it sounded more like ‘ThatwasthepairofunderwearIdroppednearthebathroom.’

“Oh,” San laughed. “That’s okay, at least they gave it back to you and didn’t —”

“ _ CHOI SAN! _ ”

The loud scream cut through the air so cleanly, it felt like the atmosphere in the class had gotten sliced in half. San could’ve sworn the entire campsite had fallen silent.

_ Me? _

“ _ GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! _ ”

“Oh my god that’s Mingi,” Jongho dropped his pyjamas, eyes wide, and ran outside. Without further ado, the rest of the patrol followed, nearly falling over each other in the rush to get to the corridor and see exactly what Mingi was screaming about. The blood in San’s veins had congealed and his bones felt like they were made of steel — he knew, whatever he was about to see, he wouldn’t like it.

“LOOK AT THE FLAGPOLE, YOU ASSHAT!” Mingi shrieked, his face so red he looked like a tomato. San looked, fearing for his life —

And he’d never wanted to die so bad.

_ Fuck. _

_ That’s  _ my underwear _. _

Sure enough, flying high on the flagpole instead of their school’s white-silver-green flag was a pair of San’s Superman underwear, the red colour blaring brightly against the clean blue of the sky.

It took a while to process, but then the entire patrol burst out laughing, even harder upon seeing how red San’s face had become. Down below, students who were cleaning up the campsite had gathered around Mingi near the flagpole, shoulders shaking in mirth.

“Nice underwear, San!” Someone from Saturn patrol next to them called, and San recognized Jeongin’s voice.  _ Oh my god, I’m going to bash your head in. _

“I’ll boil your fucking  _ teeth,  _ Yang Jeongin,” San yelled threateningly, and the boys from Saturn screamed in laughter. 

“And Mingi, the fucker really  _ wanted  _ to embarrass me, rousing the entire camp by screaming my name like that —” He groaned.  _ Fuck me, fuck me, I want to die.  _

He looked at the flagpole again, wishing he had some Matilda-powers so he could will the underwear off the pole and into his suitcase — but the staring only made him weaker in the knees and he grabbed onto the railing to hold himself upright.

“What’s all the commotion?”

The second his ears registered the voice, San felt all his organ systems shut down inside him.

_ Fuck, that’s SEOKJIN HYUNG. _

San couldn’t bear to look. He squeezed his eyes shut as Seokjin drew up to the cluster of students surrounding the flagpole and laughing like it was a modern-day Scout cult. 

Absolute silence. 

And then San heard the loudest laughter he’d ever heard.

It felt like the entire building was  _ shaking.  _ (It wasn’t. He’s just exaggerating.) Cracking open one eye, he saw their Scout leader doubled over in laughter, arms clutching his sides.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” He gasped, tears streaming from his eyes. “Oh my god, that’s  _ ingenious.  _ Reminds me of camp back when I was a Scout. Oh, god.” More howls of laughter.

Involuntarily, San let out a snort. Soon, the rest of the patrol was laughing as well (to his pleasant surprise, so was Seonghwa).

It was a good five minutes before they brought San’s underwear down and threw it over the railing onto the first floor. Mingi  _ was  _ behind it, having plucked it off San’s desk before he had sprinted the fuck out of their classroom. 

When the crowd dispersed and Mingi finally came back to their classroom, San pounced on him immediately, whacking him with his rolled-up sleeping bag several times before forcing him to help Seonghwa with his packing (much to both of their dismay).

And San’s underwear? Packed and under lock and key. No one was running underwear up the school flagpole anytime soon.

————

“You’re limping,” Wooyoung remarked, sounding worried as he watched San hobble over to his seat inside the hall. 

“Yeah,” San had never felt as much comfort as his butt finally hitting an actual chair. “Man, two falls in a day is a bit much, even for someone who trips over their own two feet.”

The ceremony was about to begin. San had sucked it up and remained standing for the rehearsal — and now had come the little intermission between the practises and the actual ceremony. Most of the scouts were pinning on their badges or re-rolling their scarves to form the standard neckerchief, while waiting for the staff to finish setting the chairs inside the hall. San was missing his enrolment badge for a good five minutes (why did he keep losing stuff today?) before he found it tucked under a loose seam in his suitcase, at which point all of his patrol had already left for the hall.

“We’re going home after this, you can rest on your good ol’ bed,” Wooyoung smiled. He peered a little at his uniform, before half-whispering, “Wait, your collar’s crooked.”

He reached over, correcting San’s collar and briefly resting his hands on his shoulders. It felt as though a jolt of electricity had gone through San’s body — the butterflies in his stomach were already turning up the music for a good party. 

They were always affectionate with each other. Hell, they literally woke up on top of each other the first night of camp. Why did the brief touches (that probably meant nothing) make his heart flutter more than if Wooyoung were to hug him and never let go? 

“You look good,” Wooyoung murmured, snapping San out of his thoughts, before sitting properly in his seat.

San’s sure he probably looked like Anpanman at that moment.  _ Oh, the things Jung Wooyoung can do to me. _

“Yeah — yeah,” he nodded after what seemed like a minute of (very gay) silence, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. “You too.”

It feels like there’s static in his brain when Wooyoung cracks a smile at that. If people could embody cotton candy, San’s sure that’s what he’d look like at the moment. 

That’s what he felt like, anyway.

“Hey,” Wooyoung leaned over, nudging San’s arm. “Do you wanna, like, ditch?”

San looked around the hall. Parents were starting to come in, and the teachers were busy setting the guidon stands and flags. Ahead of him was another endless bout of standing and reciting the promise and saluting as each Scout got awarded their badge —

“Yeah, you know what, let’s go.” San got up, offering Wooyoung his hand. He took it, interlacing their fingers — and they got up, making sure no one was watching before inching towards the back door. 

Once outside, they  _ ran  _ (and by ran, San meant  _ ran,  _ even though his knee was literally throbbing in pain) for the closest lift they could find, scrambling to get on as soon as one of the two opened.

“Where are we going?” San gasped, breathless, as Wooyoung repeatedly tapped the close button. Then he proceeded to press the seventh floor.

“Terrace,” Wooyoung whispered. “I heard Seokjin-hyung say it was unlocked, apparently the teachers all went up there last night while we were all asleep.”

“If we get caught, Jung Wooyoung —” San started, eyes wide, only to get silenced by Wooyoung’s firm hand on his mouth.

“No one saw us,” Wooyoung said, as though that was the end of the conversation. 

San raised an eyebrow.

“Okay I  _ think  _ Yeosang saw us but since when did he ever give a shit?” he leaned against the wall of the lift, as the number on the display slid into the number five.

They got off on the seventh floor. They had to take the stairs to the terrace — which was risking a lot of things, including their status as Scouts and San’s  _ leg.  _

“No, no, don’t,” Wooyoung shook his head frantically as San climbed up one step. He crouched down, offering San his back.

“You’re injured,” Wooyoung said simply.  _ Was he blushing?  _ “Come on, I’ll carry you.”

“It’s just one . . . flight of stairs . . .”  _ HE’S WILLING TO GIVE ME A PIGGYBACK? _

“Still.” Wooyoung scoffed. “Stop being so stubborn, just get on.”

“I could run a mile on this leg, Wooyoung —” San began, secretly enjoying the banter.

“Yeah, but I won’t let you,” his best friend replied, frowning. “Just get on, or I’m seriously ditching you here and ordering noodles for myself.”

“Oh no you won’t,” San immediately clambered onto Wooyoung’s back. They’d  _ never  _ eaten noodles without ordering for the both of them.

Wooyoung smirked, grip tightening on San’s thighs. San put his head on Wooyoung’s shoulder, hands resting against his best friend’s chest. He could feel Wooyoung’s heartbeat, firm and steady, like the drumbeat in the background of his favourite songs — he breathed in the scent of his cologne and hair cream and everything else that made Wooyoung so irresistibly  _ him,  _ something that definitely couldn’t be replicated. 

He felt his heart start racing faster as he suddenly processed the position he was in. He hoped Wooyoung couldn’t feel it — but then again, it wasn’t likely, with the layers of badges and the sash and neckerchief blocking the way to the wildly beating organ that was ramming against his ribs inside him. 

“We’re here,” Wooyoung said, inhaling deeply before letting San down to the ground. Sure enough, the door was unlocked (wide open, actually) and Wooyoung ran through, San following close behind.

“Call the noodle shop and order two ramens, pronto,” he instructed, walking over to the edge, pressing his nose against the glass panel. 

“On it.”

San immersed himself into the world eight storeys below him — the world devoid of any people that usually looked speck-sized ants from this height — nothing but vast emptiness, the sports ground below them glinting at certain angles against the sun which was half-hidden behind a haze of clouds. The sun would set in about an hour and it would honestly make the mood even more tranquil; there was something about schools during the break weeks such as this, a place usually so packed with the buzz of chitchat and screams of laughter suddenly so silent — empty buildings and classrooms with golden streaks of light hitting the desktops, leaves littering the compounds with no one to clean them up, even the deserted rooftop with no signs of people having been there except for an empty plastic cup flying astray with the breeze.

The wind was chilly but not enough to make San shiver — it honestly made really nice background noise, utter silence except for the rustle of leaves as the gale rushed past, anxious to help more trees make soothing white noise all too perfectly fitting for the day’s weather. Behind him, Wooyoung hung up his phone, having placed his order — he joined San next to him, breath fogging up the glass as he exhaled.

“It’s so nice up here,” he breathed, and San hummed in reply. 

“Talk more,” he said, absentmindedly. “Your voice adds to the musicality of the environment right now.”

He looked over at Wooyoung, who’s staring back at him, agape. San smiled. 

“So?” He turned to look back at the scenery. The city was resting somewhere between minuscule and huge from this height, the number of buildings and houses and rooftops lined with arrays of potted plants and flowers flying right over his head. 

He wanted to see the skyline from up here during the nighttime. Ideally, Wooyoung would be there too.

“San,” Wooyoung began. “Have you ever been in love before?”

At that moment, it felt like time had frozen — only him and Wooyoung standing there, hearts beating almost at the same rhythm.

“It’s such an indescribable feeling, like it’s everything good and bad and all you could have ever wanted. It feels like you’re dancing on the clouds not knowing when they’ll eventually just dissolve away beneath your feet.” Wooyoung looked up at the sky. 

“Every little thing means so much. Love is addicting, in a way, because it’s almost like a happiness drug at some point. You’re walking to class all giddy and smiley because your crush just waved hi to you or told you to meet them at lunch. Why would that be something to be so happy over? It’s weird how love programs our brains, because even the smallest of actions suddenly become so dear to our heart and you start noticing so much more about the person — how they speak in different situations, their little mannerisms, their smiles and tones of talking and the way their eyes sparkle when they do something they like.

But love is also scarily capable of driving you insane. Sometimes you tend to read too much into things that may have been normal prior to falling for them, and it becomes the main source of your overthinking. Why aren’t they replying? Why aren’t they picking up? Why are they with someone else when I’m right here? Do they not like me? What if they don’t like me? All these rhetorical questions, questions you can only get answers to if you suck it up and admit your feelings. And usually, the process of being in love has absolutely you absolutely petrified to admit your feelings because you don’t know what their reaction will be. You don’t know if you’re meant to be together. Their feelings might not be the same. Loving is hard, given the fact that anything is possible and the entire time you’re living with a possibility that you’re head-over-heels for someone who might not even love you back. Sometimes it won’t work, sometimes it will. If it’s meant to be, no matter how much pain and suffering and pining you go through individually, I believe you will end up together. That’s part of the beauty of love.” Wooyoung paused, breathing out. 

San looked at him, awestruck.

“Being in love feels like eating a bag of candy and accidentally getting a sour piece in the middle. While you might be more put-off by the sour bit at first, there are so many more sweet candies waiting in the bag. Sure, there’ll be sour pieces too, but you get to balance it out, you know?” he sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not really making sense. Being in love takes so much courage, because you have to know what you’re up for. Or maybe it’s like canoeing down a river only to fall over the edge of the world down a crashing waterfall — you’ll find yourself in a river again, but you’d be so much more battered and you’ll know what to do if you happen to fall down a waterfall again.

“So yeah. Love is weird. It’s an angel dressed as a devil or a nightmare dressed like a daydream. Literally no in between.”

“Have you been in love, Wooyoung?” San whispered, before he could stop himself.

The world around them doesn’t seem to be moving at all — it’s only San’s world that does, now shooting him a wistful smile and looking ahead at the Seoul skyline. 

“I’ve been in love.” Wooyoung admitted. Then he shook his head. “Actually, I’m in love as we speak. It’s one of the most exhilarating and yet shittiest feelings in the world. Both sides of it just swallows your soul whole.”

The silence around them shattered. The world began moving again and San blinked, lifting himself out of his slight daze, looking at Wooyoung with his heart in his throat.

“You’re . . . in love with someone?” San asked, voice so laden that it doesn’t even sound like his own.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me? We’re supposed to be best friends,” San burst out. Wooyoung fumbled for his phone, pulling it out of his pocket.

“Aha, and there’s the noodles delivery,” Wooyoung showed him his screen. “I’ll take the stairs downstairs so the guards don’t suspect anything.”

“Fine,” San turned around. Wooyoung waited for a while, visibly confused, before heading out of the terrace.

_ Wooyoung liked someone? And he never told me? _

San felt as though the sky had come crashing down on him, Wooyoung’s longass talk ringing in his ears.  _ You don’t know if you’re meant to be together. Their feelings might not be the same.  _ Not willing to believe it, he punched the glass panel, trying to swallow the lump that had mysteriously appeared in his throat.

Well, then — if Wooyoung did like someone, then San wanted to let him know how he felt before Wooyoung found happiness in someone else. It scared him to even think about it, and he pressed his back against the glass, sliding down and collapsing onto the floor. His hands were trembling.

_ Why would he not tell me something like that? We tell each other everything, hell, he literally farts in front of me?  _

_ There were no barriers.  _ Or that’s what he had thought.  _ There were no barriers until this, at least. _

Wooyoung returned not much later, carrying a rather large paper bag in his hands. He gestured for San to follow him near the security shed (without questioning why he was slopped onto the floor) where there’s a table and a stack of chairs gathering dust.

“So uh, before we eat. I have something to tell you,” Wooyoung placed the bag on the table. He reached for San’s hands, holding them in his. 

_ Funny. So do I.  _ “Yeah, I do too, actually. You go first,” San offered, trying not to sound as cold as he felt. 

“No, you go first,” Wooyoung shook his head.  _ We’re still holding hands.  _

“No, you do it.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“If you do it I’ll give you some of my ramen,” Wooyoung concluded. 

“Let’s just do it at once,” San suggested. His heart was starting to pick up speed again, and he’s scared it’ll burst out of his chest and run away before he can even get his feelings straight. 

“Your hands are sweaty,” Wooyoung pointed out, giggling.  _ Oh, shut the fuck UP, it’s  _ because  _ of you. _

“Okay, on the count of three, then,” San looked into Wooyoung’s eyes. His eyes were shining abnormally brightly, reflecting the orange hue of the sky in front of him. The silence seemed to last forever, just them standing there, gazes locked and fingers interlaced, words at the tip of their tongue that neither of them knew.

“Three, two, one.”

San squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and blurted ‘I’m in love with you,’ when he registered that Wooyoung hadn’t said anything at all.

Now he was scared to open his eyes.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. There goes our friendship. _

The silence all too loud in his ears, he sighed, opening his eyes. His gaze fell on Wooyoung, who stared back at him, hands on his mouth and tears sparkling in his eyes.

“Say something,” San pleaded, his voice cracking. He felt the lump lodge itself in his throat again. “God, Wooyoung, I’m so in love with you. Yeah, you were absolutely fucking right, I do feel abnormally giddy when you hug me or hold my hand or tell me that I look good. Yeah, I  _ do  _ feel like you don’t feel the same when you take too long to reply or call back or eat breakfast with Yeosang rather than me. I thought maybe it was us becoming closer as best friends, that it was normal, but no. That wasn’t it. Wooyoung, please,” there were tears streaming down his cheeks now, “I’ve fallen for you so hard. Your personality, your laugh, your honey-like voice, your looks, everything. I’m in love with you, and I can’t go on pretending I’m not. I really can’t.”

Wooyoung’s hands dropped to his sides. San saw that he was crying, too — and before he knew it he stepped forward and closed the distance between them by placing his lips on San’s.

San froze.  _ Wooyoung was kissing him. _

_ I’m kissing Wooyoung? _

San felt Wooyoung place his hands on the back of San’s neck, kissing him softly, tenderly, as though going any harder would make San break apart in his arms. San closed his eyes, kissing him back — Wooyoung tasted like strawberries and mint, another something San could add to the list of things that were so unbelievably  _ Wooyoung.  _

It was Wooyoung who broke the kiss, gazing at San, his eyes still shining with tears.

“I think that spoke volumes in itself,” Wooyoung started, voice shaking, a tear falling from his eye. “But I’m in love with you, too. I’ve been in love with you for  _ years,  _ San.”

“Well, glad that makes two of us.” San chuckled, thumbing away the tears streaking Wooyoung’s cheeks. He leaned in and they kissed again, slow and emotional, until San completely lost track of time. It was just him, Wooyoung, and hearts that felt loads lighter, all of the emotion being lifted in the form of affection and tears.

“I love you,” San whispered as they broke apart, their foreheads touching. Wooyoung’s smile was just as warm as his entire being when he replied, “I love you, too,” before pecking San’s nose.

“God, I’ve always wanted to say it with this context.” San murmured and the two of them laughed, dusting off a chair each and sitting down at the table. 

“I gave you a really shitty confession, by the way, but take this as an apology. And a celebratory first date maybe,” Wooyoung sniffled, still beaming widely.

“Of course,” San unlidded his bowl of ramen, watching the steam billowing off the surface. He took in a deep whiff. “Mmm, that smells delicious. And oh yeah, you owe me at least a quarter of your ramen, you coward.”

“Fine, I’ll save some for you,” Wooyoung huffed.

“You had it coming.” 

They finished eating in silence, the sun now beginning to set low into the horizon and highlighting the sky with hues of orange, yellows and pinks. San was sitting with his back to the sun and Wooyoung got the full wrath of the sunset, skin glowing and eyes twinkling — he looked absolutely otherworldly.

And now San could stare without the fear of Wooyoung finding out.

“You look beautiful,” San told him, standing up as they began to clear the table. Wooyoung visibly flushed. 

“Do you wanna, like.” He cleared his throat after a moment of silence. San crumpled the noodles cup and tossed it in the bag Wooyoung had brought it in.

“Make it official?”

San looked up at him and blinked. 

“Oh my god, you dense bitch.” Wooyoung laughed, throwing his arms around San’s neck and locking gazes with him.

“Will you, Choi San, do the very great honours of being my boyfriend?”

“Oh,” San breathed. “Fuck yeah. Of course.” 

Wooyoung leaned in, their lips barely touching when the door to the terrace got thrown open, crashing against the wall. The two of them jumped back, hearts thudding, only to see the rest of their patrol barging in, eyes wide and out of breath.

“Where the  _ fuck  _ have you —  _ what the fuck _ ?” Seonghwa screeched, seeing the position Wooyoung and San were in.

“Yunho, that’s 20,000 Won,” Mingi said monotonously, putting out a hand. Yunho grumbled, fishing around in his pocket and slapping two notes of 10,000 Won into his hand. Mingi pocketed it, grinning.

“You disappeared before the ceremony even  _ started!  _ I was worried sick, how could you?” Seonghwa rambled, sounding near hysterical.

“Relax,” San shot him a thumbs up. “We’re fine.”

“Oh, god, and now you’re  _ dating _ ?” Seonghwa shook his head.

“That’s the second couple from our patrol alone,” Hongjoong sighed. He turned to look at Seonghwa, offering his best puppy eyes. “So when are we —”

“Shut — shut up.” Seonghwa turned red.

“So, what did we win?” Wooyoung asked, trying to divert Seonghwa’s attention away from the fact that they’d skipped.

“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Jupiter won cleanest patrol. Mingi came second place for best camper, but that was it. Your First Class badges are with Seokjin-hyung, by the way, he says you’ll have to go get them on your own or you’re not finishing Scouts.”

“Congrats, Mingi!” San and Wooyoung said in unison, pretending like they hadn’t heard the last part of what Seonghwa had said. 

“Yeah, I don’t know why we bothered, but it was fun.” Yunho sighed.

“So? Mind explaining what  _ you  _ two have been —” Seonghwa began.

“Seonghwa, seriously?” Hongjoong threw his hands in the air.

“Oh, I can explain,” San said cheerily. “Unlike you losers, I won something today. Something that’s probably worth way more than a ‘Congratulations, Mercury Patrol, on being awarded the Cleanest Patrol prize’.”

He turned to look at Wooyoung, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“I won my best friend’s heart. Nah, scratch that — I won my boyfriend’s heart. Being in love with him was like falling into a pit with no end, but I also felt like I was flying, soaring way above the clouds. And now I can do this —” he very quickly pecked Wooyoung’s lips, watching as Seonghwa recoiled — “anytime I’d like. Because I’ve just gotten myself the boy I always wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

The patrol let out a loud collective groan.

“San, tone it down,” Wooyoung hissed. “That’s  _ very  _ public. Do that one more time and the next thing you’ll be falling for is your tomb 6 feet under.” 

“You know, I think we can safely say both the times I fell today was just for you,” San said, winking. 

“And now you have me to catch you. Always,” Wooyoung smiled.

That’s true. Wooyoung would always be there for San, no matter the situation — as a best friend and boyfriend both.

He could fall over and over, but having Wooyoung by his side would always make it feel like he was flying through the clouds on a summer evening. Because while people had significant others and best friends and soulmates, San had a Wooyoung. 

That alone, San thought, made him the luckiest person on the planet. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall!!! i hope you enjoyed reading that, and if u did, pls let me know what u think (through a kudo or a comment) hehe :D this was a v lighthearted fic and it was sooo much fun to write!!! thanks to tloml trina for beta-ing btw, i owe u one 👍


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